


you build me up like steps

by copenhagenborn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Open Ending, ot4 feeling, the brits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copenhagenborn/pseuds/copenhagenborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Niall’s always been Harry’s biggest catalyst, always been the one to pull him from the floor and got him to touch the clouds, and Harry hates that, just as much as he loves it. Because Harry’s not sure Niall’ll ever lose the control he has on Harry, not sure he even knows he has it. </p>
<p>in which Niall and Harry go to the brits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you build me up like steps

**Author's Note:**

> inspired-ish by Vance Joy's Georgia

There’s a knock on the door. A hard, persistent pattern of knocks forcing Harry out of his state of mind. But it isn’t his flat, so not his responsibility to answer the door even if he has made it his temporary home while he’s in London. But Nick’s got a lot of friends who tend to stop by unannounced, even more who have a key to get in.

It’s surprising then, when the knocker calls his name, wiggles the door handle and shouts a soft ‘Harry’ through the solid oak door.

It’s not a surprise to find Harry in Nick’s flat, he tends to do that when he’s not seeing anyone. He doesn’t want to stay in a house too big for just him, wall and shelves with gaping holes of memories he hasn’t made yet. And Nick’s always there, _right there_ and ready for a cuddle when the times get tough.

But no one’s supposed to know he’s in London, travelling through the night with no more than two security guards by his side, telling no one but Nick that he was flying in. 

He doesn’t open the door, doesn’t want to see whomever is standing on the other side. Nick’s got a key, he can get in if he wants, doesn’t need Harry getting up from the sofa, unlike whoever is yelling his name.

It doesn’t work out that way though.

A key is turned and the door pushed open, a loud, annoyed sigh filling out the silence.

“You’re such a dick, you know that right?”

And he knows that voice, he’ll always know that voice he reckons, even after the three months where they haven’t been together. Even after he thought he’d never hear it again, when he thought he had forgot the decreasing Irish accent, which has gotten so much thicker than what Harry can remember. Just like way back when, when Harry still had his innocence and Niall still believed that everyone wanted the best for him.

He turns around, stumbles to the floor head first, and Pig looks mad, like he’s done something inexcusable before she’s off, running towards Niall who’s squatting down, petting the dog until she’s lying belly up and tongue lolling out of her mouth.

 “Have you been a good girl for your daddy then? Of course you have, haven’t you?” Niall coos softly, standing up as Harry scrambles to his feet. “You look like hell mate.”

“Thank you.” Harry replies wryly, hands going to the loose fabric of the sweats he took from Nick, but it doesn’t matter. Niall’s seen him in almost everything, back when he thought loose, baggy trousers were the way to go, or the bright yellow shorts he had gotten so much shit for, the floral suits he adores, naked with nothing but a sheen of sweat covering his body, if there’s someone who’s seen him in every way it’s got to be Niall.

But then he sees Niall, looking him over as if it was the first time he had met the blond. There’s a catch in his breath he doesn’t want to own up to, but he doesn’t blame himself, not when Niall’s looking like _that_ , he’s sure no one would.

Because Niall’s been travelling, he knows that, been backpacking through Australia and Asia – “it’s called inter rail, Haz.” – and somehow, Niall’s gotten so bloody tan, a healthy glow to his skin and a breakout of freckles all over his face, hands, neck, on whatever sliver of bare skin Harry can see. 

He’s wearing that deep blue suit he wore at the AMA’s, the same crisp white shirt and glasses, looking like a complete mirror image of the Niall he shagged that night. And it hurts. Seeing him like that, knowing exactly what he looks like beneath that suit, how the freckles on the small of his back can be aligned to make out a heart, how badly Harry wanted to take a picture of it and post it, something about true love written underneath it.

It feels like a sort of mockery, like Niall knows what that suit does to him and just came by to rub it in his face, ‘See how good I can look, and you don’t get to touch.’

His hair’s bleached too, a brighter shade of blond than what he usually has. Harry’s not sure whenever it’s natural, if he’s been out in the sun that much, or if he took time out of his travels to swing by a hair dresser.

“You’re going then?”

Niall doesn’t seem to deem that with a reply, rolls his eyes as he walks through Nick’s flat with ease. It hasn’t occurred to him until now, that Nick and Niall might be friends, might have something that doesn’t involve him, that the nights Harry’s spent in LA with Jeff and Kendall, Niall might have spent them in London, hanging out with Nick and the rest of his friends, _Harry’s_ friends.

“You should get dressed,” Niall adds from the kitchen, the fridge popped open as he pulls out a bottle of champagne Nick’s been saving for someone special. “The car’s coming to pick us up in an hour, and I know how you are with your hair.”

There’s a slight edge to his voice, the soft order Niall’s _so_ good at using, hidden underneath a layer of subtle suggestion.

Harry doesn’t reply, accepts the glass of champagne with Pavlovian ease as he walks to the guest room. It’s a bit of a redundancy really, the king sized bed in the middle of the room. Because Harry doesn’t know a single one of Nick’s friends that doesn’t sleep in the bed with Nick when they’re staying the night. Harry wonders if Niall might have lain where Harry slept last night, if Nick too put his arms around Niall and held him close to his chest, soft whispers and Pig’s snores the only sounds in the room.

It hadn’t been the plan to go to the Brits. He knows Liam is going, Louis too according to his assistant, but Niall had been ghost, believed to still be in Asia travelling with mates from back home. So Harry hadn’t bothered, didn’t want to feel like the odd third wheel to Liam and Louis, knows he could never compete with Louis for Liam’s attention, doesn’t want to either. Harry’s already cost Louis too much, doesn’t feel like taking away his best friend too.

He knows he should have, knows that Nick is going to be presenting tonight and that Harry would be able to hang out with him, knows that Nick likes to feel like the centre of attention, even when he’s amongst others just as famous as him.

And Harry gets that, loves the feeling of being watched in adoration, pictures and long articles discussing him like he something the might never be; it’s why his and Kendall’s relationship had lasted so long when they had nothing to talk about, when she wasn’t Niall and he didn’t feel engaging in conversation about things he didn’t really enjoy.

But Niall’s always been Harry’s biggest catalyst, always been the one to pull him from the floor and got him to touch the clouds, and Harry hates that, just as much as he loves it. Because Harry’s not sure Niall’ll ever lose the control he has on Harry, not sure he even knows he has it.

So he gets ready. Pulls on the suit he had gotten fitted, white fabric with a soft, black pattern, his hair done up in loose curls, recently washed and cut to stay soft and healthy.

Niall’s there on the couch when he’s ready, a kind smile on his lips as Pig cuddles closer to his legs.

(+)

Somehow Liam _did_ know Niall was going to attend, or at least he isn’t surprised when the two of them slips behind the pair walking down the red carpet.

It feels good to be back like this, posing just the four of them in front of cameras, Niall’s arm around his waist, Liam tucked up against his back, Louis smiling kindly as he leans on Liam. It feels so natural to just _be_ with the three of them around him.

They don’t win the Best Artist Video.

It goes to Little Mix, who accepts it with wide smiles and kind words, holding each other close as they try to get through four thank you speeches in the small amount of time they’re getting.

Harry doesn’t mind, they don’t need another award, not when they’re on hiatus and not even supposed to be a group, as if they could ever stop being One Direction. The girls have done well, Harry reckons, nicely written and catchy songs, he had said that time Niall played him the album. They deserve it too, after the year they’ve been through.

They _do_ win Best Group, and somehow Harry couldn’t have asked for a better closure for that chapter of One Direction. Liam trying to thank everyone they’ve ever worked with, Zayn’s name almost slipping through his lips at one point, but he recovers nicely. Louis is suddenly there by his side, a gentle arm around his waist as they walk off the stage. He squeezes his hip, and Harry doesn’t know what to do, hasn’t been in this position for a while, so he just leans against him, a soft smile on his lips as he mutters a thank you. And Louis just nods, slips a number into his palm and tells him to call when he’s back in the states, “Freddie would love to meet his uncle Harry.” He says.

They pretend they don’t see Niall brushing off the stray tear on Liam’s cheek, how he buries his head in Niall’s shoulder and holds the blond tight as Niall rocks them back and forth. Because despite the general belief that Niall’s One Direction’s biggest supporter, Liam is the one who wanted this the most. He was the glue keeping them together through the tough times, when Zayn left and he had to let a brother go to keep the other three, when Harry and Louis couldn’t be in the same room without Louis going mad for the next week, sulking and snapping at everyone until Eleanor pulled him back down to earth, whispering her understanding. When Louis told them Briana was pregnant and that he couldn’t be on tour while he was a baby, that he needed at least a year with him before he was ready to go again.

And now, everything Liam had been working for for almost six years, is suddenly going to be over, nothing keeping One Direction as _One Direction_ anymore. And Harry can see how that must hurt him, he feels it too, the soft prick of melancholy when he thinks about the forth coming year.

They stand there backstage, wrapped up in each other, every part of them touching in some way or another, until Liam pulls away, red eyes and choked up words as he tells them that he loves them, like he’s dying and won’t be seeing them again. And Louis’s not good at that, Louis’s been emotionally stunted since March, since both his best friend and the one he had planned to spend his life with left, so he punches him, a soft blow to the jaw and muttering a ‘shut the fuck up Payno’. Because Louis might not be good at emotions, but Liam’s always occupied a big part of Louis’ heart.

They go to the Universal after party.

They’re not a part of Sony anymore, and none of them feels obligated to go to be there when they don’t have to. Nick’s DJ’ing again this year, and none of them feels like being by themselves, so they pile into the cars. They stay together for a while, drinking and laughing like they’re teenagers who doesn’t have to do anything but nurse a hangover the next day and in some ways they are, something they’ve never really been before.

But Louis has a kid and a girlfriend back in the states, so he doesn’t stay for long. Long, sloppy kisses on their cheeks as he tells Harry to look after Liam, that he’s been texting Sophia again, but that she hasn’t been answering.

Liam’s always been bad at drinking though, doesn’t last very long when he tries to match Niall drink for drink. He ends up catching a ride with the winner of the Breakout Artist, Harry’s not sure who won, plans to google it before going back to Nick’s so he doesn’t end up being kicked out.

Niall’s not _that_ drunk though, his speech isn’t slurred and his movements are fluent. But there’s something in his eyes, something soft and gentle as he leans across the small table and touches Harry’s cheek. He must see something on Harry’s face, because Niall sighs beautifully and pulls away. His cheek’s feeling too cold as he watches Niall walk around the room, searching out people he knows, hugging them with soft spoken words. Nick’s the last one he goes to, standing in the DJ booth with Alexa and Daisy behind him, sloppy drunk and laughing as Niall approaches them.

Nick doesn’t look happy at whatever Niall tells him, looks downright mad when Niall pulls away with a look of determination. But then they’re hugging, and Nick pets his back as he leans down to peck his cheek, miscalculating the distances as he hits the corner of Niall’s mouth instead, but the blond doesn’t flinch. Instead, it looks like he’s leaning into it, like it’s not the first time Nick’s been this close to his mouth.

Harry plans on asking whatever that was, if Niall’s been shagging Nick behind his back. But then Niall’s taking his hand and pulling him to his feet, leaning in to whisper whether Harry wants to stay or come home with Niall, a soft promise lingering at the end.

And Harry’s not sure if he’s ever spoken faster.

(+)

They go to a hotel.

Niall’s out of the country for so long he’s decided to do some renovating, and Harry’s not sure if he even knows where his keys are, if he even has them anymore, but he’s not brining Niall back to Nick’s, not when Nick was talking about pulling and laying out hints that it would be good if Harry wasn’t home when Nick arrives.

But Harry doesn’t mind. Hotels been as close to a home as he’s had for the last five years, and this doesn’t feel much differently. Not when Niall’s right there behind him, pressing scorching kisses to his neck, soft biting and leaving marks he’s not going to be able to hide in the morning; not when his own hands are rooming Niall’s pants, and Niall’s moaning so beautifully into his skin.

It’s the honeymoon suite they’re in, nothing else was left this close to the venue, but it feels fitting, as if it was meant to be. The bed’s filled with rose petals, a sharp red against Niall’s pale thighs where the shorts have been keeping him out of the sun. There’s champagne in a bucket by the bed, but neither of them pays any mind to it, not when Niall’s fingering him open, soft words spilling out his mouth, and Harry’s mind’s turned to absolute mush.

It feels like coming home, like walking through Holmes Chapel and knowing everything he’s going to see when he’s looking around. Because there’s something so familiar about Niall sliding off his pants and throwing them to the rest of their clothes, as he’s pushing Harry to his back, leaning over him and ripping open the condom. And Harry hates that, hates that they suddenly have to have this barrier, however thin the advertising might say it is, between them, because for so long they hadn’t needed this. It had only been the two of them against the world, and now, for a reason Harry doesn’t want to think about, not right now at least, they have to be separated in the most intimate way.

But it’s still Niall, Niall sliding into him; Niall’s dick rubbing against his prostate when he pulls out only to slam back in again, Niall’s hands holding him close, and Niall’s voice telling him how much he loves him.

Harry should probably be saying something, responding to the declaration of love that’s been slipping through Niall’s lips. But this is it. This is his ecstasy, his haven, his absolute everything, and Harry’s not going to ruin it with words that doesn’t quite explain how he really feels.

And then he’s coming, spilling all over his stomach and Niall’s, _Niall’s_ , with his name on his lips. Hands grapping Niall tightly and holding him close, like he’s afraid Niall might leave now that he’s come, now that he’s gotten what he wanted from Harry.

But Niall stays put, keeps an arm around Harry as he pulls out and peels off the condom. Doesn’t even get up to clean both of them, but stays wrapped around Harry, rolling them over until he’s curled against Harry’s back, chin tucked over Harry’s shoulder.

“I love you, you _did_ hear that, didn’t you?”

And his words are soft, hoarse from the yelling and the moaning, but still so filled with love and adoration as he strokes Harry’s stomach, keeping him in place when he tries to turn towards him.

“Yeah Niall, I love you too.” Harry sighs happily, finally settling down in Niall’s arms, lets him be when the stroking continues.

He’s saying something else, something about what they should do together and Harry _wants_ to listen, it’s not that. But Niall’s arm feels like heaven, and Harry finally feels safe enough to close his eyes, because of course Niall’s going to stay, because Niall really does love him.

(+)

Niall doesn’t stay.

Or maybe he did, just not as long as Harry thought he might. Because when Harry wakes up, the space behind him is empty, cold like Niall hasn’t been there for a while.

It’s so hard for Harry to get up, to get to his trousers and pull out his phone, to ask Nick if he minds coming along to pick him up while he takes a shower. Because this feel so much like what had happened back in November, back when Niall first left him. When he told him that he couldn’t be in a relationship with Harry when he wasn’t obligated to stay with him.

Even when Harry tried to tell him that he didn’t need the pressure of being in the same band as him to be _with_ him, that even though he is free to roam the world he would never go against Niall, that he is Niall’s through and through.

But Niall’s been hurt too much.

He’s been with too many people who couldn’t be with him when he wasn’t _right there_ next to them, who’s told him that they love him but that it wasn’t enough, that if he really did love them then why would he go on tour for months without seeing them.

And Harry hates that, hates that he has to suffer because people can’t treat Niall with a decent amount of respect, hates that Niall doesn’t trust him enough to see that he would never cheat on him or forget him like that, that Niall doesn’t believe that Harry doesn’t need anyone else, that Harry would ask Niall to marry him right now if he thought Niall would accept.

But that’s not his Niall, and Harry has to live with that.

 

Nick comes when he’s in the shower. He can hear the door opening and a rustling in the room, so he gets out. Doesn’t feel like drowning his tears in anything but fine and expensive liquor, and Nick’s there now, wide shoulders to cry on.

He dries his body and wraps the towel around his hair before walking out, doesn’t feel like pulling his suit back on, and Nick’s brought him some clothes.

Nick doesn’t mind the nakedness, he’s seen his fair share of naked lads, probably those prettier than Harry too. Nick wraps his arms around him, letting the towel fall to the ground as he cards his fingers through the wet curls, and pretends Harry doesn’t sob, pretends his doesn’t hear how broken Harry really is.

“I knew this was a bad idea, shouldn’t have let him do it.” Nick bites at himself when they step out of the car parked in front of his flat. “Said he had a plan, didn’t he. What a bloody liar,”

“’snot his fault, Nick.” Harry sniffs, letting himself in and squatting down beside Pig, as if the dog could pull him back up from the bottomless pit he’s in. “It’s not supposed to be like this, he just doesn’t know how to trust me.”

“And that’s absolute bullshit, Harry.” But Nick doesn’t say anything else. Maybe Nick doesn’t know what to say, or he might and just doesn’t think Harry’s ready to hear it yet.

Nick lets him stay there, sitting against the wall in his hallway with Pig in his lap. Harry likes that, knows that Jeff would have pull him to his feet and thrown him back out there, spewing off some old saying about getting back on the horse. And that might be why Harry likes Nick the best.

His phone goes off at some point. Pig rushes off to where the noise is, where Nick’s taken his phone in fear of Harry calling Niall repeatedly.

“It’s the hotel, I’m going to take it.” Nick shouts from the sitting room.

He comes back though, an odd look on his face as he looks up from the phone. “Think you might wanna look at this, babe.” He says a bit soft, like he’s still trying to be nice, but there’s a glint in his eyes, something telling him that he doesn’t feel as bad for Harry anymore.

So Harry accepts the phone.

It’s a picture, sent from an unknown number what might be the hotel’s Harry realises, of an address. Nothing Harry knows, especially not belonging to either him or Niall, so he looks up at Nick, because this doesn’t help him, and Nick looked like this would help.

“Check the browser app, genius.”

It’s a google of the address, a hotel in the Philippines, close to the beach and with enough stars that Harry wouldn’t mind spending a night there. But he doesn’t understand why this was in the room or why it might help him. Not until he tries to remember what it was Niall was talking about the night before, when Harry was half asleep and didn’t really pay attention to anything but the tone of Niall’s voice.

“… think I like to go to the Philippines next, maybe let the lads do their own thing for a while, you know? ‘heard it’s a good place for trusting people, like if they choose to. It could be good, I don’t know, I sort of don’t want to do it alone though.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was written hours before the brits, so I really did think they would attend the brits; but once again I am let down.


End file.
